


Someone You Love

by prentissinred



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Bisexual Emily Prentiss, Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Tension, no beta we die like men, soft!Hotch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28965900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prentissinred/pseuds/prentissinred
Summary: There were no justifications, nothing that could excuse their behavior. Nothing except a man and a woman who should probably have known better but decided to tumble off the cliff together anyway.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 60
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started rewatching CM for the hundredth time and writing little pieces about Aaron & Emily along the way. I wasn't planning on ever posting them, but a lovely someone gave me a nudge to do so :)
> 
> I will try to maintain a weekly posting schedule as much as possible and post about any delays on Tumblr (@prentissinred). 
> 
> I am always so very appreciative of any comments or feedback left behind 💜 Enjoy!

The janitorial staff was making their usual rounds when Aaron Hotchner entered the BAU bullpen. The rest of the team had been dismissed for the night, opting to return home from the airstrip for some well-deserved rest.

But there was more paperwork to be filed — there was always more paperwork to be filed — which was why Hotch found himself back in his office and in the presence of Emily Prentiss, who was looking entirely too comfortable on his couch.

His body seemed to give up on him at that moment, the exhaustion and stress of the last few days hitting him all at once until he could only muster an exasperated, "Please tell me you haven't been there for the last four days."

"I heard you were flying back tonight." A benign smile ghosted her face, and her voice was devoid of the high-pitched eagerness from their first interaction. It was unsettling, like a joke he thought he should understand but didn't.

"Heard? How- how could you have heard a thing like that?"

She sidestepped his question and passed him a case file. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, he attempted to be as blunt as possible while maintaining his last remaining shred of civility. And yet, she soldiered on, undeterred. "The I-80 Killer? Co-eds in Indiana?"

"Yes, I read it on the plane."

"They aren't blitz attacks."

 _So fucking persistent._ But a small, inescapable part of him was interested now. So he finally stopped to listen, actually listen, as she rattled off a profile almost exactly like the one he devised a few hours ago. "How would you advise the police?"

Her voice raised to the familiar pitch he recognized from the last time she was in his office, her confidence building because she had impressed him enough to prompt a question. It felt personal, noticing that. A nugget of information filed away in the promise of future interactions.

He said nothing when she finished her assessment. The silence caused her to falter, just for a second, before she dug in again.

He told himself it was because of her profile. The astute, articulate profile that convinced SSA Hotchner to change his mind. It was not, he reasoned, those wide and passionate eyes staring at Aaron as if they dared him to do anything else but give in to their demands.

"You won't be sorry." Voice breathy, teeth tucked between her lips as she walked out of his office with hesitant optimism.

Somehow, he was not entirely convinced.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily is incensed by Hotch's accusation. A peace offering is made.

_God, he's infuriating._

Emily clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into the soft flesh of her palm to stop herself from slamming the door of Hotch's office behind her. She stormed back to her desk and sat down with an audible huff.

Morgan's head peeped over a file. "You okay there?"

"Fine," she gritted out as she noisily clacked on her keyboard. If she possessed the ability to see behind her head, then she was almost certain she would find Morgan's eyebrows perched up by his hairline. But he didn't push her any further. _Small mercies._

Her fingers thrummed incessantly on the tabletop. Legs rattled underneath her desk. A file was open on her computer, but her brain refused to absorb any information.

She recognized, she did, that her fury was perhaps just slightly irrational. Hotch was focused on the case. Trying to protect the team. And, as he had so generously reminded her, the stunt Strauss pulled with her transfer made her a suspicious figure. _Yeah, thanks for that_.

But the accusation that she would ever put herself ahead of her work and her team clouded her vision in a red haze. If only he knew the things she had done, the pieces of herself she had sacrificed, to end up at this desk. _Of course he doesn't know. He doesn't know who you are._

There was a number tucked away on a second phone in the second drawer of her desk. It begged to be dialed, so she could tell the British voice on the other end that this had all been a big mistake. Thanks for all the help, but she didn't belong here.

The worst part of it was that she actually respected the bastard. Respected the way he conducted himself with the rest of the team. It was clear even from the short time she had been with the BAU that Hotch was the glue that held this group of misfits together. The kind of boss who knew when to push and demand and when to shield and protect. So it hurt, probably more than it should have, that he had so much distrust for her.

JJ interrupted her moment of self-pity, "Emily, Morgan. Garcia and I had an idea." It brought her back to herself. The haze cleared, her extremities stilled. By the time she reached the roundtable room, her defenses were firmly back in place. It didn't matter what he thought. She belonged.

* * *

Chicago passed. Then Golconda, with all its horrors. But it was Georgia that took something from them. A team, slightly more broken than before, made their way back home and tried to forget.

They stayed apart on the plane, each wrapped in their own defenses. A book, a blanket, a pair of headphones. Anything to keep concerned eyes and _how are you_ -s at bay.

Emily opted for the window, finding her usual solace in the clouds rolling under them. For those few moments, she was inconsequential, just a speck floating in the sky. No lives depending on her.

A coffee cup placed on the table broke her out of her trance. She turned and was surprised once again when her unexpected benefactor took the seat next to hers. Truthfully, she had been avoiding him since they left the Hankel house; there had been one too many uncomfortable interactions between them for her liking.

"How are you?" Hotch's eyes stayed fixed on the file open in his lap, his voice not louder than a whisper but still calmly authoritative.

"I'm...fine."

He nudged the cup closer to her without lifting his head. "It's good, you know."

"What?"

"That you can compartmentalize. It's good. The work— it won't take its toll as quickly."

Emily could not fathom a response. A "thank you" seemed too trite. The truth of her past too revealing. So instead, she brought the cup to her lips and drank. A peace offering she could accept.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch brings Emily back.

The door slammed behind him as he stormed to the car. He tossed his go-bag in the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. 

_ Breathe in. One. Two.  _

_ Breathe out. One. Two.  _

A tool always ready in his mental arsenal, devised after one too many disciplinary actions in his formative years. He closed his eyes briefly as the familiar numbness seeped through him and settled his nerves. 

The drive to the airstrip was one he was capable of repeating in his sleep, which meant his mind was free to replay the events of the day. Most recently, the argument with Haley. Just before that, the unanswered call to the house — then again to Haley’s cell phone. A conversation with Strauss. And— 

_ Prentiss _ . She had lingered in his thoughts since she walked into his office that morning. Calm and collected, as if she wasn’t moments from walking away from her team. He was fairly certain he knew why; the look she exchanged with Strauss seemed proof enough.  _ But why didn’t she come to him?  _ He could have confronted Strauss or even the Director. He could have helped. He would have helped. 

It should have been simple to let her go. A passing breeze in their lives.  _ I’m gone after this case anyway.  _ But he knew he had failed her, and that made it difficult. He let his suspicions overpower his ability to lead until she chose to fall on the sword instead of trusting him with the truth. 

He found himself taking a sharp right turn just a few traffic lights before his intended destination.  _ The team needs her _ . They needed to be at their best to catch this bastard in Milwaukee — and for every case after that. By the time he was knocking on her door, he was wondering exactly when Emily Prentiss had become irreplaceable.

* * *

The jet was making its second trip to Milwaukee that day. Hotch found himself seated across a pensive Prentiss, who was preoccupied with the clouds outside her window. They had left her apartment and boarded the plane in relative silence. After reviewing the case file and speaking briefly with Garcia — who had been overjoyed by their change of heart — the two agents were quiet once again.

Hotch didn’t realize he had been staring until she turned to face him. “What?”

He said nothing for a moment and watched as she wrapped her arms around herself like armor. Then he replied, voice smooth and without its usual rough authority, “I wanted to thank you.” 

She blinked, like she had never expected those two words to come out of his mouth. “For what?”

“For what you did, or didn’t do, with Strauss. It’s not lost on me that you were willing to give up your position with the Bureau to keep the team together.” It was more than that. She had saved his job. But he didn’t mention that now. 

“Anyone would have done the same.” Her shoulder lifted as she shrugged off the acknowledgment. 

“No, they wouldn’t have.” He hesitated for a second before continuing. “I...questioned you once about your intentions. It took me some time, but I want you to know I am grateful for your presence on the team. And if you decide to stay, you’ll have my support, for whatever that’s worth.” 

He was rewarded with a smile that seemed genuine. “I appreciate that, Hotch. And I appreciate you coming to get me.” She chuckled. “Truthfully, I couldn’t stop thinking about the case once Garcia told me. It was driving me crazy.” 

“We have something in common then.” Her smile widened and he couldn’t help but reciprocate. 

“Can I ask you something?” She shifted forward in her seat until her elbows were resting on her knees. 

He tilted his head in agreement. 

“Did you really put in for a transfer?”

“I did.”

“Why?

“Strauss suspended me, and Haley...well, she saw that as an opportunity for me to get out. Spend more time at home.” He tried his best to keep his expression neutral at the mention of his wife. He had yet to come to terms with the events of that morning, and he certainly didn’t want to open that Pandora’s box right now.

“Is that what you want?” Her voice had softened to that gentle tone Hotch recognized from overhead conversations with Reid or JJ or Garcia. Kind and unassuming and without judgment. He understood then, perhaps for the first time, how Prentiss had quickly solidified herself as a member of their little family. 

“To be honest, I don’t know.” It surprised him how easily the words came out when he hadn’t even fully admitted them to himself yet. “Of course, I want to give her what she wants and to be there for Jack. But the BAU, it’s…”

“Who you are,” she quietly interjected. An imitation of the heated words he exchanged with Haley earlier that morning. But stated like it was a fact, as simply as if she were talking about the weather. 

He could only nod. 

She gave him a comforting half-smile before settling back in her seat and turning to look outside the window once again. That surprised him too. He expected her to probe more, to question, offer her opinion. It’s what anyone else on his team would have done. It’s what they  _ had _ done just that morning. But Prentiss had pulled them back into their comfortable silence, understanding somehow that he was done sharing for now. 

A glance at his watch told him they would be landing soon. So he followed her lead, tilting his head back against the headrest, grateful for the first moment of peace he’d had in two weeks. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch calls for a cab, twice.

“You don’t want to dance?” He nodded his head across the bar. Rossi was twirling Penelope around like the gentleman he was. Morgan was pressed against a beautiful stranger, and Reid was attempting to best JJ in a round of darts. A typical night out, all things considered.

Hotch was surprisingly enjoying the company next to him, considering the mammoth effort it had taken to coax him out for drinks in the first place. But he also guessed there were more exciting places to be than the booth in the back of the bar sitting next to the boss. 

Prentiss swirled her cocktail around and flashed him a wide grin. “Oh no, I am nowhere near drunk enough for that.” 

He cocked an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the handful of empty glasses between them, which elicited a trill of laughter and a wave of a hand. 

“This is nothing, and for the record, I’m perfectly happy where I am.” There was a tinge of pink on her cheeks and the slightest slur of syllables, only apparent to those who knew to listen for it. “But what about you, Hotch? Last time you came out with us, you and Haley showed everyone up on the dance floor.” 

It had been months since Hotch had come out with the team, the last being an ill-fated Super Bowl party before they were called away to Georgia. At the memory, Hotch tipped the rest of his scotch back, at the same time Prentiss realized her faux pas. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, Hotch. I wasn’t thinking.” 

He tried to give her a reassuring smile before signaling their waiter for a refill. Truthfully, it was more painful to watch his team walk on eggshells around him than it was to discuss his divorce. Huddled conversations when they thought he couldn’t hear. Garcia dropping off food every other day. Drinking scotch with Rossi every evening in the office while he tried to ignore the pity in his friend’s eyes. 

It had been just over a week since Haley had served him with the papers. It wasn’t a surprise, not really. After Hotch returned from Milwaukee to an empty house, it had been weeks of heated phone calls and light nights at the office. The worst of it was Jack. Trying to explain why his son was suddenly spending nights at his aunt’s house. Why his dad wasn’t there to eat cereal with him in the mornings. He mourned his marriage too, of course. Haley had been his constant since they were teenagers. But if he was truly honest with himself, then he knew their relationship had been deteriorating for some time. Even before she told him about her infidelity. Probably since that brief happy period after Jack’s birth had passed. So, really, it wasn’t a surprise at all. 

Prentiss’s soft voice broke the quiet, “How are you doing?” 

“I’m fine.” Another sip of his freshened drink, as he faced the dance floor. When she didn’t say anything for a few minutes, he turned back and was met with piercing brown eyes observing him. “What?” 

“Nothing, it’s just...I know we’re not...but you  _ can _ talk to me. If you want.” 

He appreciated it. All of it. He did. But baring his emotions about his failed marriage in the middle of a crowded bar was more than he could handle at the moment. 

“Thanks, Prentiss. But really, there’s nothing to share.” She nodded, gracefully taking the hint to back away. 

Before the silence could linger between them once again, a stranger appeared in front of their shared booth. Hotch ran a dispassionate eye over the intruder. White male, mid-30s. Brown hair in a classic Ivy League cut. Leather jacket —  _ expensive _ — with a hint of a tattoo peeking through the cuff. When he reached over to shake Prentiss’s hand, Hotch flagged the luxury watch on his wrist.  _ Well-off, put together, but not entirely boring. Attractive, if you were into that sort of thing. _

“—go dance?” Hotch picked up the end of a conversation that had already started. He turned in his seat. Prentiss’s posture had changed, her spine a little taller and a twinkle in her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. A beatific smile graced her face and she said something that made the stranger laugh, and Hotch knew he was about to lose his drinking partner. She paused before she stepped away from the table, one hand already interlaced with his, and turned back to Hotch as if to check that he would be okay alone. Alone was a relatively new circumstance for him, but he’d manage. He tipped his head towards the crowded dance floor with what he hoped was a smile. She grinned back and said, “I’ll be back soon,” before she was tugged away into the crowd. 

Hotch watched his team enjoy themselves for a few more minutes while he finished his drink. Then he fished out some cash from his wallet, slipped out of the bar without drawing too much attention to himself, and called a cab. 

* * *

The words were practically swimming in front of him by this point. Hotch leaned back into his office chair and rubbed a hand over his weary eyes. The team had been going nonstop the last month, which meant Hotch had spent every night this week in an empty BAU office. There was a bag of dirty clothes in the corner from the days he had given up on going home and opted instead for the couch in his office and the showers downstairs. It didn’t help that he was still in the process of unpacking his new apartment; there was something about the stacked cardboard boxes and eerie quiet that made him want to avoid the place as much as possible. 

He returned to the file in front of him, but finding himself unable to concentrate any longer, he decided to wrap up his work for the evening. Just as he was about to step away from his desk, there was a faint knock on the door. “Hotch?” 

“Prentiss? What are you doing here?” 

She took a step into his office. Her formals from the day were replaced by black leggings and an oversized Yale sweatshirt. It startled him, seeing her like that. Reminded him instantly of the first time he had ever laid eyes on her. Just barely an adult, emerging from her mother’s study in a college sweatshirt and dark jeans, with kohl-lined eyes and electric blue highlights in her hair. She had barely given him a passing glance then; it seemed almost surreal that she was standing in front of him like this now. 

“Oh, I forgot my wallet.” She waved it around as evidence. “Why are you still here? It’s late.” 

“Paperwork.” 

She nodded and rocked on her heels and seemed almost embarrassed by the situation she found herself in. Hotch started to excuse himself in an effort to break the awkwardness, but she cut him off with an unexpected question, “Have you eaten dinner yet?” 

Slightly dumbfounded, he shook his head.

“I was going to pick up some takeout on my way home. Want to take a break, join me?” 

“Takeout,” he repeated the word as if he was testing its existence. 

A smile emerged on her face. “Well, I’d offer to cook, but I’m fairly certain poisoning your boss is frowned upon.” 

He couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“So, you coming?” 

The drive to Prentiss’s preferred takeout spot was a comfortable one. She steered clear of any topical landmines — namely, the divorce and the dreaded apartment — choosing instead to joke about his taste in music as she fiddled with the radio. Once the egg rolls and Sichuan pork were successfully collected, Hotch pulled up to the curb outside her apartment building. 

“Have a good night, Prentiss,” he called out as she stepped out of his car. 

Her eyebrows crossed in confusion, “Aren’t you coming in?”

“Oh. Well, I—” 

“Let’s go, I don’t feel like eating by myself.” She grabbed all the bags of food and walked away without a second glance, leaving him no choice but to follow. 

He had seen her apartment before, but sitting on her couch now with a beer in hand, he could notice the things that felt distinctly  _ Emily _ . Enough furnishings to be comfortable, but nothing precious or overly expensive. Framed pictures on the wall of beautiful locales around the world, but nothing showcasing friends or family. A kitchen free of any evidence of meals cooked there, with only the espresso maker sitting proudly on the countertop. 

“Profiling me already?” Emily joked as she joined him on the couch with plates and utensils. He simply smiled, keeping his observations to himself, as he helped her unpack their takeout. 

As they started to eat, conversing easily, Hotch realized just how long it had been since he shared a meal with another adult. No obligations or ulterior motives. Not Agent Hotchner, not Dad — just Aaron. It surprised him, just how much he missed this, and how effortless it was with her. In the comfort of her apartment, any animosities between them were a distant memory, and in this moment, he was all too grateful for it. The muscles in his shoulders finally began to relax after a while as Emily chattered about the time Kevin Lynch visited Rossi at the BAU. 

“He was the analyst we brought in when Garcia was hurt?” 

“Yep. He’s as eccentric as she is and clearly head over heels for her. It’s nice to see her so happy after everything that happened.” 

A smile passed between them. A shared sentiment of affection, and a tinge of protectiveness, for their bubbliest team member. 

Eventually, their plates were clean and their hunger sated. Emily patted the sofa and stood, “Another beer?” He’d already had three, but he was enjoying his evening for the first time in a few weeks, so he agreed. His eyes followed her path as she made her way back to the kitchen. 

He watched as she moved around, continuing her story of the time she was almost arrested in Madrid. She had pulled her hair back into a ponytail during the course of the evening, revealing a blush across her neck from the alcohol. Facing away from him, she bent down into the fridge, and his gaze traveled down the curve of her spine, tracking the hint of a waist, admiring the way her leggings hugged her— 

_ Shit.  _ He turned his head sharply.  _ What the fuck was that?  _ Disconcerted by his sudden impropriety towards his friend —  _ no, his subordinate  _ — he stood and announced, “Actually, I should get going.” 

Emily whirled around, confusion flashing across her features at his abruptness. “Oh. Uh, sure.” She returned the beers to their place in the fridge as Hotch quickly cleared any remnants of their meal on the coffee table. His hand was already on the front door when she exited the kitchen. 

“Thanks for dinner, Emily.” He pressed his lips into a tight smile and ensured his eyes were focused only on her face. 

“Anytime.” She graciously replied. She stepped in tandem with him to close the door as he exited the apartment. 

Hotch didn’t exhale again until he was safely in his car. Shaking his head, hoping to rattle out the intrusive thoughts that had unexpectedly wormed their way into his conscience. No doubt due entirely to the alcohol he had indulged in.  _ The beer. That’s it. Come to think of it, I really should call a cab.  _


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily finds Hotch, and then finds him again.

“Should have known I’d find you here.” 

There were only two patrons of the hotel bar that evening. One was a young woman brandishing a glass of white wine while engaged in an animated conversation with the bartender. The other was her unit chief, hunched over a half-empty glass of scotch. He lifted his head and flashed her a smile, evidently pleased by the unexpected company. He signaled the bartender for another drink while she settled into the empty seat next to him. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he offered as an explanation. She nodded in agreement, there for the same reason. 

New York frustrated everyone. The murders kept escalating. The behaviors didn’t make sense. The BAU, the police, the whole city was on edge. A slow, uneasy crescendo towards the big finale they knew was coming but felt helpless to stop. 

She accepted the drink that slid towards her.

“I went over the profile again and again hoping something new would hit me. I just...I know we’re missing something.” The cool glass met her lips, and she felt slightly more at ease after a sip of amber liquid.

“I know.” Hotch’s eyes were trained on the glass he cradled in his hands. 

Emily cast a roaming glance over her boss. The white shirt was taut against his back and shoulders as he leaned towards the bar. With his sleeves rolled up and lack of tie, he looked more casual than Emily was accustomed to seeing. He could have passed for a businessman or a well-dressed tourist to the undiscerning eye. 

But she knew better, of course. The stress rolling off his shoulders was palpable. The darkening under his eyes and deepened frown lines betrayed the toll this case was taking on him. 

“That woman today...we could have stopped it.”

She frowned, unaccustomed to moments of doubt from their usually confident leader. “You don’t know that.”

His tone remained steady while the words tumbled out. “We should have tried. Morgan was right. I should have listened. We shouldn’t have been in that station just waiting. I should have—”

 _Should have._ Those two words were like a festering itch that burrowed deep underneath your skin. She knew them well. So she placed a comforting hand on his arm, hoping to relieve some of the irritation. He stiffened ever so slightly but didn’t pull away.

“Joyner made a decision, and we followed it. Maybe Morgan’s idea would have worked. Maybe it wouldn’t have. We’ll never know. But that woman’s death is no one’s fault, except the unsub’s.” She squeezed his arm gently. “Isn’t that what you always tell us?”

He was silent for a while until finally, he turned to her with a wry smile. The movement caused her hand to fall from his arm into the space between their seats. “Surprised you listen to the things I say, Prentiss.”

That made her laugh — “Only like 50 percent of the time, Hotch” — and the moment passed easily. 

She wished she could do more, say more, to comfort him. It would be so simple with JJ or Reid or Morgan or Garcia. A role she could slip into without hesitation. But despite their recent attempts at amicability, there was still a distance between her and Hotch. The line between colleague and friend had been blurred, certainly, but not crossed. This was the first time they had even really been alone together since that dinner at her apartment. For the most part, they had kept their distance since, unless they were partnered during a case. She figured he was likely uncomfortable becoming too friendly with a team member and wanted to respect that. Professional boundaries and all. 

When she realized they had been quiet for too long, she started, “I used to love coming to New York.” He turned in his seat towards her, politely listening. “Everything felt larger than life. Everyone walked around with a purpose. I came here on weekends sometimes during college, and I just loved the anonymity of it all. You could get lost in the crowd and still feel like you were always moving forward.”

“But?”

“But...it’s really just like anywhere else. Every person out there has their own problems, and those problems don’t go away just because people don’t know who you are.” _Wow, way to bring the mood down — again._ “Or maybe I’m just getting too old for all the lights and crowds and noise,” she deferred with a chuckle.

He returned her laugh, just a small one. But to Emily, it felt like the first time she had ever really heard it. It was nice, rich and warm in a way that brushed over her skin and settled into her chest.

After a few minutes, Emily heard another sigh. “I should go. I’m meeting Joyner first thing in the morning.”

“Of course.”

But when he didn’t make an effort to move right away, Emily daringly asked the question that had been on everyone’s — _her —_ mind. “There’s a history there, right? You and Joyner?”

“I knew her when she was at Scotland Yard.” He stared at her blankly, clearly confused about a question he thought he had already answered. 

“Yes, you mentioned that,” she smiled back. “I meant...more than that.”

His eyebrows furrowed, and Emily’s breath hitched, worried that she had overstepped the tentative trust they had built. But, just as quickly, his face smoothed into one of dry amusement.

“Haley and I were separated for a while before we got engaged. I met Kate around that time. We were...friendly.”

She smirked, a silent tease for everything he _hadn’t_ said. Her expression prompted another laugh from him, another burst of warmth in her chest.

Finally, he stood and placed a hand on her shoulder, his thumb making a solitary graze over her shirt. “Get some sleep, Prentiss.”

“You too, Hotch.”

Her eyes followed him out of the bar. His shoulders seemed a little less tense, his walk a little lighter. She smiled at the thought that she might have played a small part in that. 

* * *

It all went to hell after that night. Emily’s heart stopped when she saw the SUV explode on her screen. She exhaled with relief when she saw him alive and standing in the hospital. Then a piece of her shattered when she found him on the floor in a quiet hospital hallway, after all the excitement, his head tucked between his knees. _Oh Hotch..._

She sank onto the floor next to him saying nothing. Just a hand on his arm, hoping to soothe some of the pain. He relaxed ever so slightly and lifted his head.

Then a whisper, “I am _so_ sorry, Hotch.”

He didn’t look at her. But she saw him. Saw the cut above his eyebrow, on his cheekbone, his chin. Eyes wet with tears that hadn’t dared to spill onto his cheeks. 

“You did everything you could for her.”

Platitudes. Meaningless words that never comforted the way they were intended to. Her hand traveled slowly up to his shoulder and down to his elbow, again and again, hoping to assuage what her words couldn’t. 

“Did you get ahold of Haley? Let Jack know you’re okay?” 

That elicited a small nod.

“Good. That’s good.”

They sat there for what could have been hours or just a few minutes. Hotch’s eyes remained fixed on the opposite wall. Emily’s hand continued its ceaseless journey up and down his arm. 

Finally, he cleared his throat and pushed himself up. A hand came down, helping Emily stand until she was upright and facing him. 

He looked at her now. And she saw him. Saw the lone piece of hair that had intruded on his normally unobstructed forehead. There was an inexplicable urge to push it back into its place. To correct the situation until the world felt right once again. Just as she was about to lift her hand, Emily found her cheek pressed against the warmth of a chest. Arms moved around her to lightly pull their bodies closer. A soft whisper, a voice still hoarse from exertion and restrained tears, against her temple, “Thank you.” 

Her arms slid up his back and held on for just a few seconds longer. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch goes on a run.

Aaron Hotchner was going to commit a crime. It was day five of the purgatory that was mandatory recovery. And as he stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, he determined that if he didn’t _do_ something today, he would resort to criminal activity. _Maybe the BAU would need to get involved and I’d have a reason to go back early. Brilliant._

In his more reasonable moments, Hotch understood the necessity of taking time off from work. The New York incident still cruelly manifested as the incessant ringing in his ears. Not to mention the nearly unbearable pain that would wrack through him anytime there was a siren or construction nearby. Which was all too often in his DC apartment. 

Jack had stayed away from the apartment for the most part, except for brief visits with Haley, so he could recover. He had caught up on all his backlogged paperwork within the first two days of being home. He had cleaned and grocery shopped and completed all the mundane errands he could think of. And since he refused to succumb to hours on the couch with daytime television, clearly the only option left to him was something criminal. _Or maybe a run. A run might be nice_. 

The sun was just starting to make its presence known. He reasoned that his favorite park would be relatively empty and quiet at this time. And after all, his doctor hadn’t _expressly_ included running in his extensive list of prohibited activities. He smiled to himself, pleased that his new plan for the morning didn’t include the likelihood of jail time. 

Donning his running gear, he headed out to the path a few blocks from his apartment. He was right. The sky still had that inky blue hue before sunrise, and there were only a few fellow runners on the path with him. He kept himself to a light jog, just grateful for the fresh air and the chance to feel his body moving. 

A flash of something black passed him on the path. He blinked in surprise, recognizing that hair. _Prentiss_? He watched her sprint ahead of him and turn the corner. 

His first thought was that he hoped she was safe while running in the still relatively empty park. His second thought, and the far more unwelcome one, was that she looked really good in those damned black leggings. 

He wasn’t proud of it, but he had been avoiding Prentiss for the last few weeks. Ever since that dinner at her apartment and the unexpectedly physical thoughts that had followed him home. It was like a dam had broken after that night. Errant observations now popped into his brain in increasing frequency. Like how her eyes seemed to double in size whenever she had arrived at a difficult answer. Or how soft her lips looked when she gnawed on the end of a pen while doing the crossword on the plane. And then she had spent nearly a half-hour comforting him in the hospital last week. Not to mention the hug, which she seemed to welcome, and the fact that he now knew her hair smelled like citrus. It was confusing, the way she had started to invade his thoughts. 

Okay, maybe it wasn’t _so_ confusing. He could admit, objectively, there was a part of him that found her attractive. He would be blind not to see the way people noticed her. The cops who would forget their manners when she walked into a station, running their eyes over her. The men and women who openly flirted with her while they were out with the team. But she was still Prentiss. His intelligent, competent, skilled _employee._ So he resolved to keep as much distance as possible — it helped keep those unwelcome thoughts at bay — until the situation resolved itself. 

And in any case, it wasn’t like he was being lecherous or anything. He was just newly single. And not entirely dead inside. So it was only natural that he would be noticing women in ways he hadn't before. _No big deal._

Eventually rounding the corner himself, he jerked to a stop. The woman that was definitely Emily Prentiss had paused on the side of the path, head bent over what he assumed was an iPod. 

His first instinct was to avoid her completely. Stick to the plan. Finish his run, go home, and distract himself until he was back in the office on Monday. But, he rationalized, it would be infinitely more awkward if she spotted him first and realized he hadn’t approached her. 

Before he could spiral further, he jogged over and stood behind her, placing a gentle hand on her upper arm in greeting.

A second later, he was seeing stars, pain shooting up his nose and cheekbones until tears pricked his eyes. "What the fuck?"

“Hotch?!” his assailant screeched. The sound pierced his ear and his head pounded with the pain. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Me? You’re the one who _assaulted_ me.” The tears were still blurring his vision and he had to blink a few times until a shocked Emily Prentiss came into view. 

“What was I supposed to do? I’m a woman running alone in a park at 6 in the morning, and a man comes up behind me and _grabs_ me—“ 

“I did not _grab_ you,” he retorted. A small drop of blood hit the hand that gingerly held his nose. “I didn’t want to scare you and shout your name while you were listening to music. Clearly my mistake.”

She stood there, hands on her hips, an indignant expression on her face. He expected her to yell at him again, but instead, her frown morphed into a smile. A giggle escaped her lips and he stared at her like she had gone insane. That only seemed to spur her on and her giggle morphed into full-blown laughter until she was practically bent over in mirth.

“I’m sorry—” she gasped out in between laughs. “Sorry—”

He erupted into a wide grin; he couldn’t help himself. _She really is pretty when she smiles._

Finally, the laughter subsided into breathy chuckles. “Oh god, Hotch, I really am sorry.” She stepped closer to him and lifted her hand until it was inches from his nose. He removed his hand, allowing her to lightly inspect it. “Are you okay?”

He smirked. “I’ll live.” 

“Good,” she stepped back with a smile. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were...Wait, shit, your ear. Are you sure you’re okay?” She immediately lowered her volume. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

“And what the hell are you doing on a run? You’re supposed to be resting.” 

He rolled his eyes. “I had to get out of that godforsaken apartment.” 

She giggled again. “Okay, fine, I get that.” 

“Here at this park for the first time?” 

“I’m here all the time, actually. It’s my favorite path to run. But I’m usually not here this early.” 

He cocked his head, asking the silent question. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” she replied. 

He nodded, wondering if they were destined to meet every time either of them had a bout of insomnia. 

“Well,” she clapped her hands together, “if you can forego the rest of your run, let me buy you a cup of coffee. My penance for hitting you.” 

Alarm bells lit off inside his head. This was definitely not part of the plan. In fact, it was the exact opposite of the “Avoid Prentiss Until You Stop Thinking About Her” plan. So it made absolutely no sense that the next words out of his mouth were, “Sure. Lead the way.” 

She beamed at him, like this was the best thing to happen to her all week. _Fuck. Stop doing that._

“There’s a cafe nearby that I love. But fair warning, it’ll turn you off breakroom coffee forever.” 

“I accept the risk,” he chuckled. 

They walked the requisite two blocks and arrived at the quaint cafe. The weather had been unseasonably warm, so they opted to sit outside under the green awning. The neighborhood had started to wake up by then, and as she turned to watch the sidewalk traffic, he tried to ignore the way the morning sun brought out the chocolate brown in her hair. He did, however, make a note of her coffee order (cappuccino with a dash of cinnamon) while he ordered his usual flat white. 

He had to stop himself from audibly groaning at the first sip of his coffee. “Damn it, you were right. Breakroom coffee is swill compared to this.” 

“I warned you.” She took a sip of her own drink. “There’s a reason I avoid it...Hotch, what?” 

He had been staring at the foam that had appeared above her lip. “Nothing, I’m just admiring your mustache.”

She swiped at it with her hand and laughed as her cheeks flushed. 

He decided right then that he was very partial to that blush. It never made an appearance at work. As if it intentionally reserved itself for moments like this. A pink-hued distinction between Agent Prentiss and Emily. 

Their conversation was easy and entirely devoid of casework. He listened to her rave about the last book she’d read ( _Kafka on the Shore_ ) and explain the meaning behind her most prized possession (a guitar gifted to her in Buenos Aires). He told her about Jack’s new habit of mimicking everything (he’d inadvertently learned the word _shit_ yesterday) and that their favorite place to spend an afternoon together was the zoo (giraffes were his favorite). 

At that point, the waitress interrupted them to ask if they wanted any breakfast. He stayed quiet, providing her the option to end their impromptu coffee, but she quickly answered with, “I’m pretty hungry actually.” So she ordered a bagel and lox and he ordered blueberry pancakes.

Winter was her favorite season, and her biggest pet peeve was people who talk during movies. Winter was his favorite season too, and he hated people who stared at their phones while having a conversation. The story about his professor at George Washington who refused to wear shoes during lectures made her laugh. She countered with a story about a hot tub and the New Haven police that had him nearly choking on his pancake. 

Once their plates were cleared and the check was paid — she insisted on splitting the bill — and there was no longer an excuse to prolong their morning together, they said their goodbyes on the sidewalk outside the cafe. 

“I really am sorry for punching you,” she said with a smirk that hinted at her lack of remorse. 

“I certainly appreciated your atonement,” he replied smoothly with a smile of his own. 

“Yeah, I had a nice time too.” Despite the pleasant sentiment, she trapped her bottom lip under her teeth as if she was contemplating something serious. In the next second, she stepped into his space and wrapped her arms around him in a light embrace. Before he could register the movement enough to reciprocate, she pulled away from him with a “See you Monday, Hotchner” and strolled down the block without a second glance. 

The “Don’t Think About Emily" plan had officially gone to hell. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude in which Emily comes to terms with something potentially problematic.

Sex was not a novelty for Emily Prentiss. 

She knew how to command attention. How to stand confident in a bar, locking eyes with a stranger for just a second too long until they sidled up to her, offering to buy her another round. She knew how to kiss like it was her last kiss, how to flick her tongue to elicit a moan or two, how to move her hips just so. 

One night stands? More than she cared to admit. Months of whispered adorations and tangled sheets? Once or twice. Even a year-long undercover operation where she may or may not have fallen in love with an international terrorist? Handled. 

So there was no excuse, really, for why she was so unmoored by her newfound crush on a certain unit chief. 

There wasn’t a specific moment she could point to as an indicator of when things changed. It was more like little blocks stacking on top of each other again and again until threatening to topple over with the slightest change in wind. 

There was the girl’s night when, after too many tequila shots, Penelope decided they absolutely had to play a game of Fuck, Marry, Kill: BAU Men Edition. Emily looked bemused when Hotch proceeded to feature in the illustrious Fuck category for both her companions. In a voice much too loud for their public setting, Penelope exclaimed, “Come on, Emily. You have to admit Hotch has that sexy, brooding thing going for him.” Emily thought about it, laughed, and then proclaimed she would Fuck Derek (because abs), Marry Rossi (because food), and Kill Anderson (for no good reason other than it made perfect sense). 

Then there was that time on the jet after a week-long case in Ohio. Hotch was diligently working over some case files, and Emily, sitting a few seats down, was the only other team member awake. It was then she admitted, gun to her head, that  _ maybe _ she could see Pen’s point. His jawline was chiseled in a way most people would find exceptionally attractive. Though his hair was neatly coiffed, she imagined if someone were to run their fingers through, then they would find only soft tresses. And when he concentrated, he would bring his hand up to his mouth, and how had she never noticed how  _ large _ his hands were? But clearly, she was severely sleep-deprived if she was picking up on things like that. Because he was her boss. And he was married. 

And then he wasn’t. When the team promptly dragged their boss out for drinks, she found herself in a booth with him with more drinks in her system than she confessed to. She did blame the drinks, however, for the realization that, while Hotch certainly cut an impressive figure in his tailored suits, they had absolutely nothing on his black long-sleeved henley. He had rolled his sleeves up at some point during the evening, and there was no reason that forearms should be that appealing, right? But again, none of that mattered, because even if he wasn’t married, he was still her boss. So she danced with some guy named Hunter and tried not to think too much about the pang of disappointment she felt as she watched Hotch exit the bar. 

Through a series of bad luck and poor decisions, Hotch ended up on her couch a few weeks later, Chinese takeout and beer around them. He politely listened to her nervous babble, only interjecting with a question or comment here and there. She tried to ignore the way his knee hovered dangerously close to her own, cursing her decision to purchase the red loveseat two years ago instead of that more spacious sectional. The night ended with him unexpectedly fleeing her apartment like a bat from a cave. She was confused at first, but then she determined it was probably good that at least one of them was conscious of professional boundaries. A necessary reminder of that very important fact: Hotch was off-limits. 

But that didn’t stop her brain from exercising in some seriously destructive behavior when she went to sleep later that night. Visions of a dark-haired man kissing his way down her body flooded her mind with impossible clarity. Outrageously attractive hands trailed up her legs before spreading them open until one hung off the sofa and the other hooked over a broad shoulder. Kisses and licks and swirls in the place she craved to be touched. Fingers dug into her thigh, sure to leave bruises, while others entered her and stroked the part of her that made her see stars. A sinfully deep voice coaxed her to  _ come for him _ with practiced authority. When the tether inside her snapped and her back arched off her red sofa, Emily shot up in her bed, sheets clenched in her fists and her back cold with sweat. She decided then that she absolutely, without question, needed to get laid. 

So she did. With a blond lobbyist she met at a popular DC watering hole a few days later. It was a perfectly pleasant and sufficiently satisfactory evening. She snuck out of their apartment not five minutes after her partner had fallen asleep. And then she did again. This time with a redhead she met while out dancing with the girls. They made out in a darkened corner of the club before they found themselves in a hotel room. Emily opted to spend the night and thoroughly enjoyed an encore performance the next morning. 

Despite her efforts, none of these encounters quelled the frankly problematic physical reactions that started to follow her to work. The clench in her stomach when his thumb grazed over his knuckles as he pondered a new piece of information. The heat in her cheeks when their fingers grazed against a coffee mug or case file. The way her chest seemed to balloon when Jack visited the bullpen and ran straight into his father’s open arms. 

Okay, so she was attracted to him. It really wasn’t such a big deal. It was just a physical response. Nothing more. It would pass, as all attractions did. 

Then New York happened. In some ways, it seemed par for the course. Her team had experienced enough pain and loss collectively to fill novels; New York was simply another terrifying chapter. But when she saw Hotch in that hospital hallway, it shifted her axis, her perception of her world and the people in it. Because she understood then that underneath the suit and the heroics of his job, her overbearing, bully of a boss was really just a man. A man with the burden of hundreds of lives on his shoulders and innumerable scars etched into his soul. A man who, despite everything, braved the world with the singular goal of protecting those around him. So as she stood wrapped in his arms and inhaling the scent of him, Emily made a decision. That her attraction didn’t matter. That if this was the moment this man trusted her enough to be more than a colleague, to be a friend worthy enough to soothe even a single scar, that would be enough. 

It was the dimples that eventually did her in. After her (warranted) public assault, she offered to buy him coffee. Because friends did that kind of thing. She also expressly avoided entertaining any thoughts of how good he looked in his running clothes. So,  _ as friends _ , they sat across from each other at the cafe, coffee and breakfast between them. And Emily tried. She really did. But as their unexpected meal continued, she was presented with a different side of Aaron Hotchner. More  _ Aaron _ than Hotchner. The space between his eyebrows was smooth and devoid of their usual worry. His voice, while maintaining its rich timbre, carried a lightness to it that she rarely heard. He seemed as content as she was to discuss their lives outside the BAU, voluntarily divulging facets of his life that were normally sheltered. And then he laughed and flashed her a genuine smile, a smile that revealed those elusive dimples in his cheeks. She was sure she had seen them before in the years they’d known each other. But never in such close proximity, and never directed at her. And it felt like someone had taken her heart in their hand and squeezed.  _ Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck.  _

The only thought in her head as she walked away from the cafe was that she was so completely, categorically  _ screwed _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a departure from the usual Hotch & Emily interactions, but not to worry, we will return with the next update. Stay tuned!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily works late one night.

Emily logged off her computer with a sigh. The bullpen was quiet; most of the team had already filtered out for the evening. The dimmed lights flickered overhead as the janitorial staff made their rounds. 

She checked the time on her watch. _9:42pm_. She had prolonged her time in the office as much as possible today, offering to help with reports and completing extra consulting work. 

The truth was she was avoiding her apartment. Ever since Colorado, her ordinarily comforting home felt stifling. It had surprised her — god knows she had been in worse situations before — but that didn’t stop her from waking up in the night clutching her throat because she couldn’t breathe. Didn’t stop the nightmares of finding Reid and Morgan’s bodies after the explosion. Or the very real pain in her chest which served as a constant reminder of Cyrus. It didn’t help that the BAU hadn’t received a new case in a week, which would have been a welcome distraction.

But it was late now. There was no more work to be done. And it was time to go home.

As she packed up her things, she noticed the light peeking through the closed blinds of Hotch’s office. She frowned, thinking she had been sure he had gone home for the night. Picking up her bag, she walked up the stairs to knock on the door. 

“Hotch?” 

She expected to see him at his desk, but instead found him on his couch, surrounded by open files. He looked up at her, surprise on his face, and replied, “Prentiss? What are you still doing here?” 

“I had a lot of work to catch up on,” she said blithely, catching the way his eyes narrowed at her. “Why are you still here?” 

He gestured around him. “Lots of paperwork after Colorado.” 

Feeling strangely guilty, she pulled her bag a little closer to her. “Is there anything I can help with?”

His lips pressed into an easy smile as his expression softened. _Those damn dimples_. “Thank you, but I’m sure you have more interesting things you could be doing on a Friday night.” 

The irony forced an eye roll, accompanied by a self-deprecating laugh. Instantly she winced, pain lancing up her sides. When her eyes opened, he was staring at her, concern clear on his face. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she murmured, pressing a hand against her ribs. “Still hurts when I laugh.” 

His eyes raked over her, and she felt herself retreat by the intensity of his inspection. She knew what he was seeing. The darkening under her eyes and on the bridge of her nose. The healing cut near her eyebrow, still an angry shade of pink. She was grateful he couldn’t see the worst of the bruises lurking underneath her clothes.

He’d been on the other side of that mic. He’d told her as much when she was getting cleared by the medics. She had told him she didn’t regret what happened, that she’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping Reid safe. He had stayed quiet before giving her a small smile and a nod, thanking her and telling her to listen to her doctors. 

It had been a calming, comforting response. The response of a unit chief. The exact opposite of his reaction now. Eyes boring into her. Jaw so tense she could see a vein emerge along the sharp line. 

She couldn’t make sense of it. 

Finally, when his eyes met hers again, he let out a breath, releasing some of the tension that had collected in his features. “Would you like to sit?” 

Still thrown off by his reaction, she made her way to the chair by his desk. But two steps in, she paused as he removed the files on the couch next to him. Clearing a space she presumed she was meant to occupy. 

_Bad, terrible, awful idea_. She was still reeling after their breakfast, though it felt like years ago now. Avoided being too close to him, lest he unleash his smile or his laugh or his dimples on her again. But he had extended an invitation, and what could she do now but accept? 

Emily immediately shut herself off from the way her body reacted to his as she sat on the now empty space on the couch, perched on the edge so she wouldn’t feel too comfortable. Ignored the way the scent of his cologne wrapped around her. Ignored the palpable heat from his body so close to hers. Ignored the flush in her cheeks and the pattering in her chest that felt so loud she was sure he could hear it.

Hotch shifted the remaining files off his lap and turned towards her. “How are you?”

A simple question, yet it felt loaded with all the hurt of the last few weeks. Part of her wanted to tell him everything, about the nightmares and the apartment and the pain because she knew he would know exactly what to say. But it would mean exposing yet another part of herself, and she already felt like a live wire when she was around him. And the thought of that concerned look of his, which would inevitably follow her around for days, was too much to handle. So she lifted her head, plastered a smile on her face, and said, “I’m fine.”

He frowned, obviously not satisfied with her answer. “Emily, you know you can always talk to me.”

She also ignored the butterflies in her stomach that erupted from the sound of her first name. 

“Thank you. But I’m fine.” 

He looked like he wanted to say more. He opened and closed his mouth, then pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before he relented. “Can I get you a drink?” 

She desperately wanted to say yes. “I can’t. Pain meds.” 

He stared at her again and she felt compelled to reiterate. “Really, Hotch, I’m _fine_.”

"You know, you've said that word so much, it's lost all meaning." Finally leaning against the back of the couch, he arched a mocking eyebrow at her. 

She mimicked his position, settling back and facing him, ignoring the protests from the more sensible parts of her. "It's the truth." 

"If you say so."

"Spencer still blames himself, you know." 

“It wasn’t his fault.” 

"I know. I've tried to talk to him, but he's still holding on to it."

"It was a tough situation." He nodded solemnly. "He'll be okay." 

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. _Might as well get it all out._ “Hotch, I’ve been wanting to say...I’m sorry that you had to hear...that.”

Turning to her with a frown, he said, “Why are you apologizing? You should never have been in that position.” 

She shrugged, "It's the job. And I'm okay. I'm just sorry you all had to experience it too."

He went silent for a full minute before responding. "I damn near ruined the whole thing. Dave had to talk me down from storming the place."

"I'm glad you didn't. People would have gotten hurt."

"Still. I would have."

"I know."

Their eyes seemed to fixate on the same thing at the same time. Two hands resting less than an inch from each other on the grey couch. It would be nothing, barely any movement required, to intertwine her fingers with his. _Bad, terrible, awful, dangerous ideas._ Then, as if it had been scripted, they both turned their heads in sync to look at each other. 

For one electrifying, heart-stopping moment, it felt like he was going to kiss her. His face was stoic as ever, but his eyes dilated, filling the chocolate brown with onyx. Her eyes flitted ever so quickly to his lips, as she quietly inhaled and held her breath. The idea lingered in the air, an unspoken question between them she wasn’t willing to voice out loud. 

And just as quickly, the moment was over. Hotch broke first, turning away to look at his watch with a slight cough. 

She let out the breath she had been holding and cursed herself for even entertaining the thought. It wasn’t entirely improbable that he might hold some attraction for her, given his reaction. And they had certainly become more friendly in the last few months. But she should have known that it wouldn’t, couldn’t, go any further. Even if she could be convinced to overlook their working relationship, Hotch was nothing if not the consummate professional. This felt like the final nail in the coffin. A definitive line, drawn in permanent ink where earlier she might have dared to hope for chalk. 

“It’s late.” He broke through her internal chastising. 

“Right. Yes. I should go.” She started to gather her things and stood. 

“I haven’t had dinner yet. Have you?” 

She turned around to look at him, the confusion evident in her face, while he remained seated on the sofa with that irritatingly impassive expression that was all too familiar. At first, she wanted to scream at him. Raging profanities for his ability to remain utterly unaffected by _everything_. But rational behavior prevailed, and instead, she just shook her head. After all, he was just trying to maintain their status quo. Shared meals and friendly chats. She was the one who wanted more. 

“Feel like sharing a pizza?” 

_You can do this. Friends. Friends is good. Good, easy, appropriate._

“Sure, pizza sounds good.”

She waited for him to collect his things and lock up his office before they both made their way to the elevators. The silence between them, usually comfortable, felt excruciating to her now. She wondered if he felt the same. 

Grasping onto the first safe topic she could think of, she asked, “Are you seeing Jack this weekend?” 

“I am.” His face lit up in that way it did whenever he spoke about his son. “I promised I’d make him waffles, and then we were planning on spending the day at the library.” 

They stepped into the now open elevator. “Wow, waffles. I’m impressed, Hotch.” _No, no. Retreat to neutral ground._

He just smiled at her, and the elevator made its slow descent into the parking garage.” 

“How about you? Any plans for the weekend?” 

“Nothing really. I might go for a run. Get out of the apartment.”

“Maybe we’ll bump into each other at the park again.” 

She couldn’t help her grin. “I promise not to punch you this time.”

Dimples flashed at her. “I hope not. I’m quite fond of my nose the way it is.”

A wider grin. “It _is_ a good nose.” _For fucks sake, Emily._ “So. Pizza?” 

“Yes, right. Your place or mine?”

 _Oh my god._ Evidently, his phrasing startled him just as much as it did her, and she could almost detect a hint of a blush when he added, “Or we could eat in at that place Morgan likes.” 

“Works for me.” _Apartments should be avoided at all costs._

The elevator doors opened and they quickly made their way through the nearly empty parking garage. Her car was parked closer, his only a couple spaces down from hers. 

“I hope we have the same taste in toppings because I am strictly a— _shit!_ ” 

She tripped over the rubber speed bump, barely a foot from her car. Her arms instinctively reached out to steady herself and were met with a pair of forearms, refusing to let her fall to the ground. With an embarrassed huff, she righted herself and looked up to thank him, her heart racing from the momentary burst of adrenaline. What she didn’t expect was to find their bodies so close to each other. Close enough that she could make out every worried line on his face. Her hands held onto him near his elbows, while he had wrapped his around her biceps. Neither of them said anything, frozen in their spots. 

And for one electrifying, heart-stopping moment, he kissed her. It was maddeningly chaste, just a hesitant brush of his lips against hers, but it was enough to send a shiver down her spine. _Did that really just—_

She felt him pull away almost immediately — _oh no you don’t_ — and her hand moved to circle his tie, holding him still so she could tilt her head up and kiss him again. 

That seemed to be the permission he needed. Hotch moved his hands up her arms until they cradled her head between them. Her own hands settled on his sides, lightly tugging him closer to her. Their lips moved with each other, a precise dance that landed somewhere between tender sweetness and overwhelming lust. 

His lips parted when she traced them with her tongue, and she took it as a sign to deepen the kiss. There was a soft rumble from his chest that sounded suspiciously like a groan, and then he deftly moved them back until Emily was pressed against the side of her car. _Yes, yes, yes._

She slipped her hands inside his suit jacket and ran them up against his white button-down, feeling the flex of the muscles in his back. His leg parted hers, slotting himself in between, until every possible part of them was pressed together. 

Her body hummed with that unmistakable feeling of a wish fulfilled. 

She relished in how much larger he was than her, completely enveloped in the heat of his body. Her arms circled his neck as she arched into him, while he rested his hands on her hips and pulled her close, avoiding the bruises on her sides. 

When her lungs were burning from the lack of air, she pulled away with a gasp. His forehead fell to rest on hers as they both caught their breath. 

After a minute, Hotch stepped back, dropping his hands from her. Their eyes met, and for a brief second, Emily swore she saw a flicker of relief in them. As if he had been wanting to do that for months, as she had. But just as quickly, as if someone flipped a switch inside him, his brows returned to their customary furrowed position. His voice was rough and hushed when he finally spoke. “I’m sorry. That was…” He shook his head, looking down at his feet, before returning her gaze with a stronger voice. “Good night, Prentiss. I’ll see you Monday.” 

Emily opened her mouth to protest, but he had already walked away. Still leaning against her car, she listened to the sound of a door slamming shut and the peel of a car exiting the garage. 

When the vibrations dissipated and her hands stopped shaking, she stepped into her car and calmly made the drive home. It was only when she stepped into her apartment, pouring herself an overly full glass of wine, that she allowed herself to replay the events of the night like a reel. The absurdly delicious kiss, the press of his body against hers. And then, his prompt and infuriating escape. 

Emily didn’t get pizza that evening. Nor did she go for a run the next morning. Instead, she got her first full night of sleep in a week, the thought of him distracting enough to keep the nightmares at bay. 

By the time she entered the bullpen Monday morning, Emily was resolute. He had made the first move. And now, she was determined to find out why.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch drinks whiskey.

Hotch dispassionately flicked through the television channels, disappointed to find nothing sufficiently distracting. Tossing the remote onto the nightstand, some mindless sitcom running in the background, he covered his face with a groan. _Maybe I should just go to sleep._

The team had finished a pleasant dinner — a rare moment of collective relaxation after a young boy was returned home — but Hotch had politely declined offers to explore the more interesting parts of Vegas afterward. He had already completed his work for the Michael Bridges case, and in their initial rush to get on the ground, he had brought no other work with him. 

He resigned himself to a pathetically early night in Sin City, going through the motions of bedtime. But the now dark and quiet room did nothing to settle his thoughts. So as he stared at the popcorn ceiling, faintly illuminated by the lights outside his window, his mind wandered to the only thing that seemed to occupy it during sedate moments. 

The kiss was stupid. Incredible and exhilarating, yes, but equally stupid. There was no good explanation for why he initiated it. He had already come to terms with the fact that he had feelings for her, but never once had he entertained the thought of actually acting on them. But the moment she was in his arms, there was an undeniable need to be closer to her. It was the last thing he had ever expected, to feel such a strong pull for someone. 

He wasn’t proud of the way he had left her in the garage. But he needed to get some distance before they did something he knew she would regret. _Stupid_. He’d carried a pit in his stomach all weekend knowing that he had ruined their fledgling friendship, made worse when he didn’t see her in the park during his Saturday run. When he came into the office on Monday, he expected to clear the air. Expected to see her standing in his office demanding an explanation. 

But no such thing happened. Prentiss had slipped into her work that day as if nothing had changed. Then, because bad karma was clearly following him around, he had found himself seated next to her on the jet during their last three cases. He had steeled himself for whispered conversations, despite the less than private setting, but again, nothing came. _She did say she was good at compartmentalizing._ So even though he wanted to apologize for his behavior — even though she had kissed him back and he had a million questions — he decided to take her lead. Get on with their lives and forget that night ever happened. 

There was a knock at the door just as his eyes had started to drift shut. He quickly threw on a shirt and sweatpants over his boxers and went to answer. 

“Prentiss?” 

“Hi. Are you busy?” There was an easy smile on her face, no hint of an agenda or resentment.

“Um, no. Not busy. Is everything okay?” 

She cocked her head, and he stepped aside to let her into his room. Her eyes were bright and slightly glassy, but she moved with a calm assuredness. It was only after he closed the door behind her that he noticed the half-full bottle of whiskey in her hand. He arched a questioning eyebrow. 

“Morgan found a friend for the evening. Rossi’s asleep, and JJ’s pregnant. I needed a drinking buddy.” At his evident hesitation, she started to backtrack. “If you’re not up for it though…” 

_Shit. Okay, no, this is good. You must not have fucked things up completely._ He walked over to the minibar to retrieve two glasses. “One drink,” he said, holding them up with a congenial smile. _You can do this_. 

She grinned, promptly taking a seat on the floor against the foot of his bed and patting the space next to her. Hotch glanced longingly at the chair that was sitting a much more appropriate distance away before he sat in his proffered spot, putting as much space between them without being too overt. 

Emily poured their respective drinks and passed him his glass. “Cheers.” He clinked against hers and took a sip. _Good stuff._

“Think Reid is going to be okay?” 

“I think so. Morgan talked to him, and spending some time with his mother will be good for him.” 

“Good, that’s good. He should spend a few more days with her. We don’t have a case waiting for us.” 

He hummed in agreement. “I’ll suggest it tomorrow.” 

They both sipped their drinks again, and Emily swiftly refilled his now empty glass, blatantly ignoring his “one drink” proclamation. He didn’t fight it. 

“Did you and Morgan get a chance to go out after dinner?” he asked in an attempt to make polite conversation. 

She let out a laugh. “Yeah. Morgan, Rossi, and I went to Caesars. Rossi was on a winning streak for a while, until he bet big on a round of blackjack and lost the whole thing. Which is when he announced that there was a reason he didn’t go to casinos anymore and came back to the hotel.”

Hotch couldn’t help but grin, knowing his friend was anything but a gracious loser. “That sounds about right. And Morgan?” 

“Oh, well, 20 minutes in, he started flirting with a girl sitting at our table. So you can imagine how that ended.”

An hour later, they were still on the floor, the bottle standing nearly empty between them. Emily led the conversation, easily weaving through topics that bordered on superficial, never delving into anything too personal or serious. With each sentence, he felt the weight on his shoulders ease piece by piece, grateful that his actions hadn’t entirely destroyed the camaraderie between them. Maybe he could spend the next few years proving his friendship, and with time, his more amorous feelings towards her would dissipate. 

It wasn’t until Emily poured the last drops of whiskey into his glass that he discovered he had made a seriously grave error in judgment. 

As he raised the last of his drink to his lips, she turned to face him, a steely look of resolve replacing her formerly cheery expression. “So, are we going to talk about it?”

 _Fuck me. She wants to talk about this now? A month later?_ “Talk about wh—” 

Cut off by the almost murderous glare thrown at him, he reneged on his initial plan of feigning ignorance. “Okay, yes, you’re right. We should talk about it.” 

Neither of them said anything for a moment, then Emily, with a bit more edge in her voice, said, “You kissed me.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and schooled his features, adopting a tone he hoped was both contrite and sincere. “Listen. Em—Prentiss. I should apologize for my behavior that night. It was forward of me, and I should never have taken advantage—” 

She waved him off before he could complete his apology. “I’m not looking for an apology, Hotch. Well, not for the kiss anyway. I’m not upset about the kiss. I want you to tell me why.” 

“Why?” 

“Yes, Hotch. Why?” 

He finally turned to face her, and his eyes fell to the empty whiskey bottle on the floor. Emily’s glass sat beside it, equally empty. It was then he realized that she had never once refilled her own drink, while she generously refilled his glass at every opportunity. 

He quickly took an inventory. His body was relaxed, despite the discomfort he felt at their current conversation. But his brain was still clear, all faculties in place. 

The pieces started to click together, and he determined there was a very good chance this entire evening was premeditated. _Smart girl_. She had lulled him into a false sense of security for the last few weeks, waiting for the right moment. Then imbibing him with just the right amount of alcohol to get him pleasantly comfortable, but not so much that he could blame whatever came out of his mouth on the liquor. 

“Hotch?” she interrupted his discovery, confusion in her face — probably at the smirk he now wore. He couldn’t help but feel a bit proud at her little manipulation. 

“Sorry,” he shook his head with a slight chuckle before returning to a more solemn state. “Right. _Why._ Emily...I’m not sure I can give you a reason.” 

“Try.” She shot him a look he understood well. _Don’t bullshit me._

“Honestly?” He opted for the simplest explanation of something he didn’t fully understand himself. “I kissed you because I wanted to.” 

Her eyes widened briefly before she nodded and turned away, seemingly mulling over his answer. _Your turn now._

“Emily?” 

“Yes?” 

“You kissed me too.” 

Her answering nod was cautious. “I did.” 

“Why?” 

The silence was interminable, but eventually, a smile crept onto her face. “Because I wanted to.” 

_Well, okay then._ He was pleased, certainly. Presumably, that meant some small part of his attraction for her was reciprocated. _Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s not like anything more could happen. The team...Strauss — god, Strauss — she’d have your head on a stick if she ever found out about this. Not that there is a ‘this’. She didn’t say she wanted anything more. It was just a kiss, a heat of the moment—_

A hand came up to his face, interrupting his internal rambling. Her fingers trailed down from his temple to his chin, her nails scratching lightly at the stubble that had formed. He resisted the urge to close his eyes at her touch. 

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

She leaned closer, stopping just shy of his lips, and whispered, “Something I want.” Then her lips pressed against his. 

There was a familiarity there, already an ease with which they moved together. But there were also new things to learn. Like the way she tasted of whiskey and the faint chemical burn of a cigarette. Or her penchant for scraping her nails against the nape of his neck. 

When she reared up on her knees, bringing her body closer to his, he took it as a positive sign, allowing himself to tease his tongue against her lips. He swallowed the sigh that escaped her lips as she parted them easily. 

The tenor of their movements changed. Her fingers tugged harder on his hair. One hand curved along her lower back while the other came up against the side of her neck. Their kisses came faster, more insistent and purposeful. She shifted, her leg sweeping over him until she straddled his lap. The groan came from him unbidden as the softness of her pressed against the growing hardness of him. He tore away from her, head falling into the crook of her neck, his breaths rough and shallow. Her hands remained braided in his hair as she pulled needed air into her lungs. 

He let out a breathless chuckle, in disbelief that this had happened again, and lifted his head. Her lips were swollen, her hair in mild disarray. He wondered if she had ever looked more beautiful. Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, he placed a single, tender kiss on her lips. 

He expected her to detangle herself from him. To quell the fervor between them before they crossed any more lines. They had more to discuss, expectations to clarify. So when Emily bent down to plant featherlight kisses along his neck, he was entirely unprepared. Even more so when she whispered, “Aaron, do you want this?” 

There were a million reasons to put an end to it now. Practical, adult reasons. Giving in to this, going to the place he was almost certain they were headed, would break every boundary between them. Would put their jobs in jeopardy. Would disrupt the dynamic of the team, were they to ever find out. Not to mention the baggage he towed behind him. Still newly divorced, a parent to a young son, bound to a job that took almost everything he had. 

But there was no denying the way he felt. He craved her. Had for a while, probably longer than he would ever admit. Craved the feel of her body under his, to know the things that made her whimper and sigh and moan. Craved the brightness in her eyes when she smiled and the gentle trill of her laugh. Craved the breathy way she had said his given name, wanted to hear it again and again. 

There were no justifications, nothing that could excuse their behavior the next morning. Nothing except a man and a woman who should probably have known better but decided to tumble off the cliff together anyway. 

When he answered “yes,” he could feel her smile against his skin. She continued nipping and kissing along his neck and jaw as he closed his eyes and tilted his head to give her more access. He slipped underneath her shirt, reveling in the smoothness of her skin against his calloused hands. Her lips journeyed to his once again, and the urgency between them ratcheted up once more. His fingers skated up her ribs, ghosting the sides of her breasts before returning to his hips, repeating the path over and over. When she rolled her hips, he hissed at the feeling against his hardened length. _Fucking hell._

The smile on her face could only be described as lascivious. She promptly tugged on the hem of his shirt and discarded it on the floor behind them. He reciprocated, easily undoing the buttons one by one before pushing the shirt off her shoulders. His eyes raked over her, his fingers trailing behind with light grazes across her skin. He watched as her eyes fluttered closed at his touch, and then opened with heat blazing in them when his lips followed. He planted kisses over her collarbone down to the tops of her breasts while he removed the clasp of her bra and tossed the garment aside. She arched into his hands as he rolled and tweaked her nipples between his fingers, moaning louder when he trapped one between his teeth. He pulled away without warning, prompting a gasp as the cold air brushed across her bare skin. Cupping his hand around the back of her neck, he crushed his lips against her in a bruising kiss, before whispering a perfunctory, “Up.” 

She obliged, gracefully lifting herself off him to stand while he shifted onto his knees. He made quick work of her belt and the fastening on her jeans, sliding them easily off her legs. He tilted his head to meet her heated gaze, asking a silent question, and was met with a smile of assent as she carded her fingers through his hair. His hands trailed up her calves and the backs of her knees to her thighs, holding her steady as his lips grazed her inner thigh. They traveled up to the seam of her underwear, and he ran his nose against her, placing a single kiss over the black lace. His fingers teased over the path his nose had taken, feeling the heat of her underneath his touch. He smiled to himself as she tried and failed to hold back a whimper. Hooking two fingers into the band of her underwear, he urged it off her in the same manner as her jeans. She bent down, taking his head between her hands to kiss him, gently guiding him up until he was standing in front of her. 

They shared a brief smile, and a blazing desperation for her swept through him so hard he was sure his knees would buckle. Her fingers brushed down his chest and then across the band of his sweatpants. His hips bucked involuntarily into her hand as she teased over him, finally dragging the pants down so he was left in his boxers. Hands on her waist, he guided her around until her legs hit the foot of the bed. He lifted her slightly, carefully placing her down on the pillows. 

He stood back, one knee resting on the bed, pausing to admire the woman that had invaded his every thought for months. A distant voice in his head remarked at how preposterous it was that he had a naked Emily Prentiss in his bed, warning him that she would regret this in the harsh light of the morning. He drove the voice away, choosing to focus instead on the flush that had made an appearance on her skin. He decided he was even more fond of her blush now that he could see how the pink hue traveled from her cheeks down her neck only to disappear between her breasts. He bent down to kiss that very spot and murmured against her skin, “You are so beautiful.” 

Emily wriggled and writhed under him as he meandered down the flat planes of her stomach, eventually throwing her legs over his shoulders and settling himself between her legs. When he sucked hard on a spot below her navel, her answering moan surprised him. Encouraged him to bite lightly into the skin of her inner thigh, his tongue soothing over the bruise immediately. He repeated the action on the other side. The smell of her was intoxicating, and as much as he wanted to acquiesce to her gasped pleas, he took his time. Paid close attention to every part of her except the one she wanted most. “Patience, Emily,” he crooned against her as he spread her open with his fingers and dipped his tongue in to briefly taste her before he returned to his teasing. If there was a chance that he would never again have the privilege of being intimate with this woman, then he was going to savor every second of this. 

When her frustration reached a fever pitch, he turned relentless, circling her clit and then wrapping his lips over it and sucking. Her hands gripped his hair almost painfully while her hips rocked against him. She fell apart with a cry, “Oh, god, Aaron, _yes!_ ” And he was certain that he had never liked the sound of his name more. 

He made his way back up her body, stopping briefly to pay tribute to her breasts before his mouth reconnected with hers. Her legs wrapped around his hips and her ankles started to slide his boxers down. He rolled onto his side, quickly kicking them off all the way. Emily turned with him, her back to his chest, and she reached back to wrap her hand around him, stroking him with determination. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he panted against her shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her waist, bridging the mere inches of space between them. He whispered an important logistical question, and after she turned her face towards him with a smile and a shake of her head, he kissed her again while he positioned her leg higher and entered her slowly. The sound of their moans mingled in their kiss as he inched his way inside her, marveling at how perfectly she fit against him. He kept his rhythm slow and deliberate, wanting her to feel _everything_ as he rocked against her. She faced away from him, her fingernails digging into his hip as they lost themselves to the pleasure of it all. He pressed his face into her neck, his tongue tracing the tendons there while careful not to leave any visible marks. 

“God, Emily, you feel so good.” He could hear the strain in his voice as his hand gripped the thigh of her lifted leg even harder. The other snuck around her, finding her clit, and the pad of his thumb swiped rhythmically against her. 

“Yes, yes. Right there—oh! _Yes_ , so good.” She released a litany of moans into the heated air of the room. “Faster, _please_.” 

He didn’t deny her this time, increasing the speed of his hips while his thumb continued its unrelenting pace. “That’s it, Em, come for me.” 

Before long, she crested against him with an incoherent cry, her walls clenching around him as he continued to move through her climax. When her vice-like grip eased, he pulled out of her, rolling her onto her back and entering again with a groan. It took only a handful of thrusts for him to collapse on top of her, his mouth latched onto her shoulder to muffle his own cry. 

They stayed like that for minutes on end, the sound of their pants the only noise around them. Finally, he lifted his head to gently kiss her, before turning onto his back beside her. She was the first to turn towards him, and he was surprised at the wide grins mirrored on both their faces. A laugh bubbled out of her, and soon they were both breathless with laughter. 

“Hotch, that was...amazing,” she exhaled between breaths as their amusement at their current situation subsided. 

“Am I back to Hotch already?” he teased.

He was pleased when another blush graced her cheeks. “No, you’re right.” She faced him, a hand splayed across his chest, and kissed him. “Hi, Aaron.” 

The affection he felt for her at that moment swelled his chest to an almost unbearable lightness. “Hello, Emily.” She grinned again and laid her head on his chest. He pulled her closer still, aimlessly tracing patterns into the smooth skin of her back. It wasn’t long after that the night’s activities took their toll, and Aaron fell into a pleasant slumber. 

When he woke again, it was still dark outside the window, save for the neon lights of the casinos, and the previously occupied space next to him was empty. He sat up with a frown. “Emily?” 

She appeared in the doorway to the bathroom a brief second later. “I’m here.” 

She wore his white shirt and her black underwear. Her hair was damp from the shower, and as his gaze fell to her bare legs, his eyes darkened at the sight of the bruises that had started to form on her thighs. He mentally rescinded his earlier assessment, deciding with certainty this was the most beautiful he had ever seen her. 

“How long was I asleep?” 

“Only like 20 minutes.” 

He swung his legs off the bed, noting the slight soreness in his muscles with satisfaction, and put on his boxers before making his way to the bathroom. His hands honed in on her bare hips underneath his shirt, and he traced circles into her skin as he kissed her. She tasted different now, like spearmint toothpaste. 

“Stay tonight,” he whispered, contented when she agreed with a smile. He cleaned himself up in the bathroom, and when he re-emerged, he found Emily sitting up in bed flipping through a booklet. 

“Is it strange that I’m hungry?” she asked aloud without lifting her eyes to him. 

“Mm. We never did get that pizza.” He sat on the edge of the bed and dialed the concierge number on the hotel phone. 

She brought the menu around to him, kissing his neck. “Thank god for all-night room service.” 

He spoke into the receiver. “I’d like to order a large margherita pizza,” he turned to face Emily with a smirk, “and a bottle of champagne, please.” His smile grew when he saw her forehead wrinkle in confusion. “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.” 

He settled back against the headboard and instinctively lifted his arm so she could settle into his side. “Champagne? That is...incredibly cheesy, Aaron.” 

“I’m aware. But I have to pay you back somehow for that little stunt you pulled with the whiskey.”

“Caught onto that, did you?” 

“Your lack of faith in my observational skills is offensive.” 

She chuckled, and he put two fingers under her chin and tilted her head up so he could kiss her. It amazed him that they could be so naturally affectionate with each other, when just a few hours ago, he was under the assumption he had ruined all chances at her friendship. 

The thought sobered him as they separated. “Emily, we should talk about this.” 

She exhaled a sigh and leaned deeper into the crook of his shoulder. “I know. But not right now, okay?” 

That suited him just fine, happy to live in ignorance of the real world for a little while longer. “Okay.” He kissed the top of her head. “Tell me something then.”

“Hmm?” 

“Did you show up at my room tonight with the intention of seducing me or…” he teased, a smile in his voice. 

She laughed into the air. “Oh yes. Absolutely.” She moved so she was straddling his lap, a repeat of an earlier series of events. This time, his hands wandered more freely, up her thighs and under his shirt. “You can’t just kiss someone like that and not expect them to come back for more.” 

Their kisses were lazy now, languid and unhurried. They had the time to explore, to tease and taste each other. He traveled to new destinations, the spot behind her ear, the hollow of her throat. She bent to trace the line of his shoulder with her lips, as his hands tightened around her lace-clad behind. 

Eventually, he tipped her back so she was under him again, and he continued his diligent mapping of her body. He inched the shirt higher onto her stomach and licked a slow path down to his intended target. He teased her over the lace, running his tongue up and down until she was keening. Pulling her underwear to the side, he slid two fingers inside while he directed his attention to her clit. 

“Where’d you learn to do this?” she gasped as her hands tightened around the bedsheets. 

He lifted his head, inciting a whine. “I was married before, you know. I do have _some_ concept of how this works,” he remarked with all the dryness he could muster. 

She swatted the top of his head. “That’s not what I meant. You’re just...not what I expected.”

He smirked. “You mean you couldn’t picture your tight-ass boss in any position besides missionary, let alone going down on a woman.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he tensed. It was the first time either of them had overtly acknowledged their working relationship since before that fateful kiss, and he worried he had inadvertently burst their pleasant bubble. 

But if she felt his tension, she didn’t show it, shooting him a devilish grin instead. “Yes, exactly. Just wait till I tell the girls what you’re really like.”

He pinched her thigh in faux annoyance before returning to his ministrations until her laughs turned into moans and she came apart once more. 

When her body finally relaxed from its taut hold, his mouth glided up, intent on memorizing every inch of her. Just as he was about to pull the shirt off her head, there was a knock on the door. 

His head collapsed into her chest in defeat as she giggled at the interruption. Planting one last kiss, he pulled on a robe from the closet and retrieved their sustenance. 

He lifted the champagne into the air as he walked back to the bed. “Fair’s fair, Prentiss.” 

It turned out that she didn’t require much coaxing at all. The pair of them dug into their food with enthusiasm, and Emily seemed more than happy to consume her share — and then some — of the champagne. By the time only crumbs remained in the pizza box and the empty champagne bottle was deposited on the nightstand, Emily peacefully dozed on her pillow. 

Aaron moved as quietly as he could around the room, though he was sure the alcohol combined with their more physical activities would keep her sound asleep. He deposited their food tray outside the room and cleaned their glasses. Their clothes were strewn haphazardly on the floor; he neatly folded hers into a pile and packed his bag for their morning flight. He gathered two aspirin from his toiletry case and left them on her bedside table with a glass of water before setting the alarm. 

He slowly made his way under the covers, careful not to jostle the sleeping Emily, relishing the feel of the cool sheets as he stretched out his limbs. Emily rolled over in her sleep, her back finding the warmth of his chest as she wriggled back against him. He buried his face in her hair, wrapped an arm around her waist, and succumbed to sleep. 

The sound of his phone ringing woke him up all too soon, the Nevada sunshine now streaming through the blinds. He answered quickly before the noise awakened Emily. "Hotchner."


End file.
